Too Many Rock Stars

By: Candy J. Starr



"Yeah, that's what I wanted. Is there anything wrong with that?" Then he winked at me.

When Razer winked, his face fell into sexy creases and his slight dimple showed out. That damn dimple. It gave him a boyish charm that softened his whole look and stopped him from seeming like nothing more than a mountain of muscle.

"Yeah, there is something wrong with that. You know everything is wrong with that. Because you are overstepping your boundaries. This is my office and – stop looking at me."

He leaned over with a leer in his eyes. "Well, you are sitting there in those skimpy little shorts. You have amazing legs, Violet. A man could write songs dedicated to your legs. Although I’d write them about your eyes…"

"Of course I'm wearing skimpy little shorts. I was expecting to be in complete privacy. There's no air-conditioning in here, in case you hadn't noticed, and it's pretty damn hot."

"We could make it hotter." His eyes twinkled.

I glared at him. He was not helping his cause. Now that he'd brought the topic up, the office seemed even stuffier.

With Razer's leer getting leerier, I pulled down the legs of my shorts. They didn’t pull down far enough though. They really were skimpy, mainly because no one ever came into my office. I just left them in my desk drawer for times when it got too hot to be bearable or for napping situations.

I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around me. I was far too hot for a blanket but at least it covered my legs.

"Do you want to ever play a gig here again? Because if the answer to that is yes, you will stop talking right now."

Damn rock stars. They thought the way to my heart was through my pussy, like they'd be doing me a favour by sexing me up. The reality of that was so far from the truth. They could keep their bodies and their flirting and calling me babe. Just once I'd like someone to bring me cupcakes. Not sexy times and not drugs, but a nice little cupcake with frosting on top. Or, you know, peace and quiet so I could nap. I folded my arms over my chest. I needed to get this guy out of here.

"Who let you in anyway? The club is shut. Not open. Closed for business."

"Drew. He's doing the cleaning."

"That little jerk. He knows better."

Drew was the bus boy/cleaner/dogsbody. He was in like two hours early for his shift because he was crazy conscientious. He sure as hell would not have the balls to tell Razer to fuck off. But the guy had to grow a pair sometime. You couldn't just have trash blow in off the street. I was at the club to work, not entertain random rockers.

For all he knew, Razor could be really dangerous instead of just having a big, jerky bad boy front. All those tattoos and the hard body, they didn't fool me. I bet he took his laundry home on Sundays for his mother to wash. That was the way of every “bad boy” I’d known.

Razer moved around the room like he owned the place, messing with my stuff. I had a pile of notes on the demos bands had sent in and he picked them up and started reading them.

I jumped up and pulled them out of his hands. That sort of confidential info was not for the likes of him.

"Can you just leave?" I asked. "There is nothing here for you, Razer."

I stared him down while he did that eye thing he does that I'm sure gets more panties wet than I could even count. I checked myself. Nope. Total dry panties here. He had no effect on me whatsoever. He could move that look on to the next girl he had in line.

Okay, that was a complete lie. He did get my panties a little wet and my heart pounding but there was no way in hell I'd ever admit that to him... or anyone else.

Our gazes locked and my body froze to the spot. I tried to think of a snappy comeback, something to break the moment, but my mind just buzzed with the smell of him and the closeness of his skin.

As he moved in closer, his lips almost grazing mine, my senses returned to me. I pushed him aside.

"If you're not going to leave, I will," I said. I grabbed my blanket and stormed out of there.

To get to the bar, I had to cross the store room. On one side, boxes of booze piled up perilously. Behind them, the back stairs lead up to the band room – my secret stairs so I could get up to the bands without having to squash my way through a packed crowd.

On the other side, the cool room rumbled. That thing scared the bejesus out of me. Maybe I'd seen one too many movies about people being locked in them.

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